


Hole Through the Heart

by wirewrappedlily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Zombies, accidental magic, kill a caster and the spell's undone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirewrappedlily/pseuds/wirewrappedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't so much that he wanted to come back from the dead, as that he just didn't want to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hole Through the Heart

It wasn't so much that he wanted to come back from the dead, as that he just didn't want to die. 

Stiles had found his niche: everything was finally alright. And then a rogue Alpha that had hunted Stiles from his college campus in Boston to Beacon Hills put his hand through Stiles's chest, and Stiles shot him through the eye into his brain, and the wolf was dead, and Stiles was dead--but Stiles wasn't dead. He had a gaping hole in his chest, but he was still standing, still breathing and sluggishly bleeding and he should have been on the ground, dead. 

Derek's eyes were huge as he stalked towards Stiles slowly, his face pale as he reached out and touched Stiles, "You smell like magic, Stiles." 

"I-I'm not dead?" 

Derek shook his head, then seemed to reconsider and nodded, "I...I think you're a zombie."

"I don't want brains, though." Stiles argued dumbly. 

"Stiles--Stiles, we should go…" 

Derek drove him to Deaton's, abandoned for the weekend, and stitched him up himself, oddly good at it for a super-healing werewolf. "Steady hands." Stiles laughed hollowly, "Derek?" 

Derek looked up into his face, finally, and he dropped the package of gauze, pulling Stiles in and kissing him before anything else could happen to the infuriating wolf in boy's clothing. "You just…" Derek laid his large, warm hand on the wound he'd just stitched, kissing away Stiles's panicked, pained tears like he'd tear them apart. "You came home, and I still couldn't--" 

"Shut up." Stiles bit off, slamming into another kiss, desperate and messy and uncaring utterly as he wove his legs around Derek's where Derek stood in front of the surgery table he'd perched on. "I came home because we're stronger together. Not because I thought you'd save me." 

"I still--" Stiles kissed the words off his lips, brushing his thumbs over Derek's cheeks. 

They were pulled apart by Stiles's phone shrilling--the ringtone specifically chosen by Derek to hurt his own ears so that Stiles would stop kissing him to answer the damn thing. "Dad?" 

Derek's eyes widened as he listened in when the distress in Stiles's father's voice came through fully. "We have to go." 

Derek threw Stiles one of the extra shirts he kept in his trunk as they rushed for the car, Stiles snorting as he pulled his ruined one back off in the car, pulling the other on. His hand met Derek's anxiously as they sped first for the Hale house, Derek barely breathing. 

The dead of Beacon Hills were rising: Stiles's mother had come home. 

But Derek's family hadn't. 

They watched all the way past the graveyard, not a sign of the Hales, even as they pulled into the Stilinski drive, "M-Maybe...maybe it was just humans…" Stiles stammered, his voice full of shared agony and disappointment. 

"Nothing's chasing after you, either, then." Derek muttered hollowly. 

They got out of the car, Stiles's hands shaking as Derek crossed the car and took it again, unfreezing him to stumble up the steps to the house. 

Stiles was stalled, and Derek knew why. Stiles's hand was like ice in his, no heartbeat to be heard, and Derek ached in ways that made him want to scream. Stiles was dead, even standing there next to him. He didn't know what it meant, but he'd take every second of it. "I'll wait upstairs." Derek murmured almost-silently, Stiles staring blankly at the closed door like it wasn't even his. Stiles slowly turned to look up at him, eyes still empty, and Derek leaned down to kiss him. Stiles stirs then, turning Derek's dry peck of lips into something languid and deep and pleading, his long fingers curling in Derek's shirt. Derek pulled away, kissing the corner of his mouth quickly just to get one last brush in, Stiles's scent fading on the boy himself, turning and disappearing into the darkening night to scale to Stiles's bedroom window and wait for him there. 

He found Stiles's beloved iPod and put the headphones in to avoid hearing the moment downstairs: it was private, it was personal, and he didn't need to know, it was completely private for them. 

Laying on Stiles's bed flooded his senses with the sweet, warm scent of Stiles. It made him relax somehow. Derek closed his eyes as whatever song, haunting and oddly techno, began to flow around him. He'd never thought he'd like anything he'd taken Stiles to probably listen to, but, as with most things about Stiles, he was wrong. 

It was fully dark out when Stiles opened the door quietly, slipping in and pressing against Derek's side where he laid on the bed, unsure of what to say at all, or if there even was something he could say. Stiles's hand slid into his silently, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. Derek could see they were wet, could see the worry in his face. 

"You're here." Derek whispered. 

"It was accidental, Derek. And magic...magic has a cost." Stiles told him, his throat catching. 

Derek shifted, turning and laying a hand over the still heart of Stiles Stilinski, laying his cheek on Stiles's shoulder, "It'll be okay." He whispered into the darkness. 

Derek slept like that, Stiles's hand over his on his chest. 

Stiles didn't need to sleep, or to eat, or to do anything. It was days before the shit hit the fan. 

Stiles swayed where he stood, cleaning up from the pack meeting in Derek's living room in his sweatpants and nothing else, the fabric low on his hips and Derek unable to take his eyes off of him. 

When he swayed, Derek was across the room in a heartbeat, steadying him and taking the pizza box stacked on his hand away before it could fall. He deposited Stiles on the sofa, crouching to look at Stiles's lifelessly pale skin. 

"I...I just...I'm hungry, I guess." Stiles mumbled faintly. Derek raised his hand and took Stiles's temperature. 

"You're burning up." Derek mumbled through numb lips. 

He had Stiles's taste on his mouth, the faint, barely-there scent of him on his bed. Stiles looked him in the eye, and Derek knew in that moment. He knew that the other shoe was dropping. He wanted to pretend it wasn't. He made himself pretend it wasn't. 

"I'll make you some soup." He said through a throat that felt like broken glass.

Stiles caught his wrist as he went to move away. "Derek...you...I need you to…" 

"No." Derek bit out. " _No._ "

"Then--" Stiles turned his head, a tear falling from his eye, "Then I have to." The sob in his voice was so faint. 

"I won't let you, I can't." 

"Derek, if--" The door to the loft nearly buckled under something slamming against it, and Derek had known this would be how it'd go down. "Derek...before--" 

"You can be you. You're strong willed enough not to die--" 

"Derek." 

"I can't do it. I can't kill you!" Stiles's fingers were sharp, like talons in his, yanking him down with unnatural force. 

"Derek." Stiles growled, his eyes blazing. "I can't hold on, and I'm turning into something that isn't me. Kill me before it does." 

"Stiles--" 

The door was going to give in with one more hit. Derek stood in one movement as it did, splintering inward in jagged chunks. Derek sent a prayer for Stiles's father before he took the first swing, knocking a head from undead shoulders. 

There were too few, the eight of them taken out too quickly for Derek to escape knowing Stiles had asked to kill him, too. 

Stiles was beginning to be ravening, and Derek took two strides over, his eyes burning as he did, bringing his hand up and reopening the wound that had killed Stiles in the first place, Stiles's heart fitting in his hand as the zombie of the boy he'd finally fallen in love with screamed blood into his face, punching a hole through Derek's chest in retaliation, tearing his own heart out. Derek crumpled with his hand and Stiles's around both their hearts, disintegrating to ash: nothing but a scorch mark where an Alpha and a zombie had laid with their hearts torn out between them.


End file.
